Survivors
by dunno-who
Summary: A certain couple of Snatchers find themselves to be on the run together, not sure what from, not sure where to. While figuring out, who's actually a bigger freak, they try to survive. Matters of life, courage, freedom and thermally treated food. M for many impolite words.
1. Day 1

**Well... it's been awhile, right... I am sorry, but I'll explain, for introducing this story will be mainly a bunch of excuses for that long gap and also for many other things :-))**

**This is a completely new one. Wow. Well, not exactly, but - uhm, not for me. It's going to have several chapters and some of them are going to be quite long (but i know that it won't be any record among fanfictioners) and I kind of... worked on it for more than a half a year. And yes, I have it finished (at a certain level) in my computer. That's why it took so long, I wanted it to be finished first, so that I don't eventually leave it here unfinished later (not that I would expect crowds of disappointed fans, but I just didn't want to commit such a crime :-D ) and also I wanted to have some kind of a global overview first, so that I avoid as many logical mistakes as possible... so I'll gradually rewrite it and publish, hopefully :-D I rewrote this first part like seven hundred times. And still I don't like it :-D (no, okay, I wouldn't publish something I didn't like at all)**

**The story is pretty weird. So that's warning number one. I think I'll have to rate it "M" for there are many (many many and MANY) impolite words, but I must say there are no *youknowwhatimean* scenes, I don't claim I am innocent, but it just didn't lead to it, sorry :-D**

**The impolite words are caused by the main characters, cause I couldn't imagine them speaking otherwise (yes! yes! their fault, not mine!) and I think that maybe some people won't like it uhm.. so sorry to those, I couldn't help.**

**They are Scabior and Greyback and actually that's even in the description, isn't it, never mind...**

**In this story I tried to pretend that I follow the book more than the movie (however, let's be sincere, would I really notice Scabior without a certain eye-liner-adaptation?), it goes like this - Grey was the leader and Scabior was just one of the Snatchers. I got inspired by one scene from the book, when they catch the trio, Scabior is the only one who tries to prevent Grey from eating Hermione and Fenrir - obeys it. Which was kind of surprising for me, because I always imagined Greyback as a bastard, whom no one can tell what to do and Scabior is in the book usually understood as a casual employee, oh, wait, he can search in the list.**

**So my idea was - why would someone like Grey listen to someone like Scabior?**

**No conspiracy theories, just some... I don't dare to call it psychology :-D just some guys talking, being silent and eating (not each other, surprisingly).**

**However I took something from the movie, too - the bridge scene and I also added something - Grey was on the bridge, too.**

**To be honest I made them both quite freaky and probably having some serious problems, especially Scab, I get kind of evil once I start writing :-D maybe while rewriting they'd become a little less insane. I hope so.**

**Well, here we are. Be good to me, please!**

**Oh and I don't own them, they belong to the great great woman, who ****_doesn't have to_**** be named :-)**

**Hope it's not a complete crap, uhm, sorry, I mean, hope you like it :-)**

* * *

_And that, ladies and gentlemen, is Scabior's end. Don't miss our prospects, they are at the entrance. Thank you for your attention. _

The man in a sparkling violet suit gives last one of his white-teethed smiles and leaves, why would he stay, when even the sound of the applause he was waiting for is vanishing in groaning of the collapsing bridge. Collapsing bridge?

The man looks a little like Frank Sinatra, but it's Gerald Bottle from the town, creepy aging idol of sentimental aging housewives, but he must be dead already, or..?

Scabior, wake the fuck up. Scabior. Hey.

_Hey, Scabior, that's me. You've got into some crazy shit this time, mate. Like really, haven't I told you? Don't you hang around with that guy, he's doesn't have any nose, you see? He's fucked up, too, I suppose._

_Who the hell are you?_

_The eternal gift of living, at your service. Still. Just passing around to say goodbye._

_What..?_

_The eternal..._

_What the hell happened to your face?_

_Not my fault, mate. You should wake up, it's a shame to miss your last seconds._

HOLY SHIT, NO, NO, NO, FUCK!

_The hell was that? The hell..._

_Sweetie. You really shouldn't run away from your problems. _

_The fuck, woman, you're dead, the hell are you doin here?!_

_Waitin for you, honey. Don't forget your coat, it's cold here, you know?_

_I have my fucking coat on, but I'm not fuckin following you now!_

_And what do you expect to happen? You're falling quite fast..._

_Am I..?_

_This is not what your body would stand. _

_What the hell do you know about that?! _

_I'm your mother, I know you better than anyone. And death better than you do. Still. Wake up, sweetie, don't make the same mistakes as I have._

THE HELL IS THAT, NO, NO, IT CAN'T BE TRUTH, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK...

His mind turns into one big wild heartbeat. The rest turned into falling. The rest is streaks and fear. The rest doesn't exist.

The wind is probably trying hard to tear his face apart. If someone took a photo of him right now...

NO, NO, PLEASE, NOT LIKE THIS!

_You – are – fucked._

_Oh, jeez, that's you..._

_It's always been me. I've been born myself. I've died myself, too._

_Stop that crap, will you? You are laughing, aren't you?_

_ Yeah. You – are – fucked._

_Hey, you are not supposed to talk like that, not you. You're too young to use such words, you know?_

_You – are – fucked._

_Shut up!_

Then he saw the man. He was screaming as he did, he was somehow familiar and he was dashing towards him from the opposite. He had a similar coat on.

He was a water reflection, indeed.

...

For a moment he couldn't see anything. The pain ran all through his body like a curse, the water surface seemed as hard and solid as a stone, but it wasn't, because then he felt that it's consuming him and as he opened his eyes, there were just foul brownish clouds all around him; it was stingy, he was blinking for a few seconds and then he saw, that the brown was mixing with some red this time, christ, his leg must've been on fire.

_You – are – fucked._

_Go fuck yourself, you little know-it-all._

He was waving his hands as hard as he could, it looked a little like some sort of a chicken dance. If someone laughed at him, he wouldn't know about it, cause in this muddy universe without borders nothing could be heard but deep droning, its monotony was crushing his head, or was it the water above him?

Just swim, Scabior, swim the fuck up there!

It's pretty difficult, when your leg feels like burning.

He looked up. He could see the waves, the psychedelic pattern of water surface, of the fateful border between the water and the air, border of survival. He knew it's up there, he knew that his life is awaiting him there and only there, him to breath it in, to get out of this shit, and if he gets out of it, he will definitely give up snatching and become a poet instead.

The breeze was there, as if waiting for him, as if saying, hello, just taste the sweet me, first it touched his nose, then the whole face, his eyes widened at the feeling and then he finally and desperately breathed in as if he wanted to consume all the oxygen in the atmosphere.

And the first thing he used his beloved inbreathed air for was...

"MOTHER OF FUCK!"

And then he started to cough. Well, he probably was capable of poetry only in the state of emergency.

The rapture of using lungs was soon to be replaced with cold. And, which was even more important, with thinking again. Come on, be a Snatcher. Nothing you wouldn't solve. Nothing you wouldn't survive. The bank seemed to be quite close, just few yards at the most. Very well. Just cut your leg off and swim, he thought.

But there were more problems to appear, those quite unexpected ones. For at the very moment someone grabbed his shoulder.

"Scabior!"

"Whatblbbblblblbllblblbllllbbbcough cough cough, Greyback, the hell you think you're doing, go fuck yourself, you idiot, get your fuckin stinky hand out of me blbllblblblblblblblblblblbcough cough cough, you'll kill me, you, blllblblblbllblblblbbb, the hell?!"

He managed to get rid of Greyback's grip, the werewolf started to smack the water around himself and obviously was trying hard to reach any part of Scabior's body. Finally he managed to catch the edge of Scabior's coat, oh shit.

_Thank you, Mum._

_You are welcome, sweetie._

„Jesus Christ, Greyback! Do you wanna kill me or what?!"

„Sca... Scabior..."

There was an unusual despair and fright in Greyback's face. It was quite surprising that it had any expression, actually.

„Scabior, I..." for a while he disappeared under the water, Scabior hesitated briefly, as he was considering what this weird stuff was all about, then, when Greyback didn't show himself again, he turned around and wanted to go on swimming, but realised, that the idiot, whom Scabior presumed to be dead, was still holding his coat.

„Okay, keep it if you like it!"

He was getting quite weak. His leg was still hurting and so was the rest of his body, actually. He started to feel dizzy.

„Scabior!" a pleading rattle sounded behind him. „I cannot swim!"

„Are you fuckin kiddin me?!"

„I blbllblblblblbllblbblbl I really cannot blbllblblblbllbblblbl Scabior blblblblblbllblb Scabblbllblblblblbllb..."

„And what the hell am I supposed to do with that?! Save your stinky life yourself, I'm not your fuckin mother!"

Unfortunately he realised that Greyback was way too keen on surviving to let Scabior survive himself.

„Okay, you hairy bastard, if you kill me, I'll haunt you for the rest of your life blbllblbllblblbllblblblblbl! Just move at least your fucking legs, I can't carry us both blblbllblblblbllblbblblb, I'm not working properly, since I've been falling down that castle, have you noticed?! Blblbllblblblblbblbllbbllb..."

„How does one do that?!"

„What?!"

„Swim, the hell could I mean?!"

„Holy crap, just kick around yourself and you'll figure that out, but quickly, you big bulldog!"

„When we get to the bank I'll kick the fuck out of you!"

„That doesn't make me quite happy to save your ass, does it?"

„Bllblblbllblblbllblblblbllblblb."

„Got the message. Hey, you, swimming is about keepin your head above water, know that?!"

He was sitting on the bank, breathing heavily. They were. Actually, Greyback was more like lying, but still.

_What do you say now, huh? Can you hear me?_

But no one answered.

Greyback spoke instead.

"Fuck them bastards, cough cough cough, it can hardly walk and talk and cough cough cough, I'd cut his head off like cork from the bottle with my own fuckin hands."

Scabior didn't react. At this moment he terribly desired to do exactly the same with Greyback himself. But he knew that it would probably end up with his head being somewhere in Manchester.

He was exhausted, everything hurt him, but he was alive. Good job. He will never ever drink water again, though (not that he drank it very often).

The castle was on fire on many places. Lights of various colours were emitted out of its windows and explosions and shrieks could be heard.

„So, nice to have met you, Greyback, but I think we should be leaving now. Our lord is in some serious trouble, right? No offence but I'm not very keen on seeing your ugly face ever again in my life and furthermore, it's much easier to get lost, when you're alone. So, have a nice day and go fuck yourself. And learn to swim."

„I'd tear your body apart in five seconds."

„One more reason to leave."

He tried to stand up and found out that it won't be that easy, for at the very moment, he shifted his weight on a certain leg, he briefly, but seriously considered offering it to Greyback for dinner – then, for the sake of the rest of his body, he changed his mind.

„Oh, fuck..."

„What?"

„Nothin."

He straightened his back and stretched his arms. Then he tried to figure out some proper excuse, so that he could stay for few more moments, because it will surely take just few seconds till his awwww fuckin leg will be all right, just a moment, minute or two at most, or three, crap – then he remembered. Brilliant.

"I must've lost my wand when I was falling down. Actually, I dropped it right at the beginning."

Greyback didn't answer, he was too focused on scratching his hairy forearm with his teeth. Scabior didn't try to understand the being and made a few steps to look around, pressing his lips in order to prevent any single hiss of pain from leaving his mouth.

"Fuck. I'm not likely to find it, I suppose. There is some terrible crap in that water. So," he turned to the dead body of one of the Snatchers, who, in his bad luck, fell about one meter next to the lake, or whatever it was. He held a short dark brown wand with a few scratches all over its surface. "This must be yours, right? You won't need it anymore," he picked it up with a little trouble, the boy, yes it was still a boy, was holding it surprisingly tight, considering that he was dead. Scabior took a proper look at him. "Oh, jeez. Look, Greyback, it's Jerry."

"Who's Jerry?"

"That guy with that shit all over his face. The most teenage teenager I've ever seen. Once he ate all the cookies in five minutes, remember?"

"No."

"Well, it must've been during the full moon."

"Scabior?"

"Yeah?"

"The hell are you talkin about? Just take the fuckin wand and go."

"Oh, yeah. Sure. That's what I will do. And you? When are you leavin?"

"None of your business."

"Gonna eat some pretty young girls?"

"Get lost."

"Sorry, just askin."

To Scabior's horror Greyback, whose air passages seemed to have got rid off all liquid already, sniffed a little, as if he noticed something, and then gave an evil smile – actually, after all those years it was the only kind of smile Greyback was capable of, so far Scabior knew.

"You are nervous," the werewolf remarked.

"As you were in the water," he shot back.

"If you ever tell anyone, I'll find you and slowly tear your body apart with my own teeth, beginning with your toes and goin on so that you'll be conscious as long as possible."

"You've been thinkin about it quite a lot, haven't you?"

"Go."

"Not your employee anymore, right?"

Instead of an answer Greyback turned to Scabior sharply and took a deep growl.

"See you," Scabior said quickly and made the first step, finally. Not that he would be afraid of Greyback. He was just kind of unsure about such a weird creature hanging around, a creature who, for some reason he didn't want to know, appeared from time to time with an unknown red liquid on his teeth. A werewolf, you'd say. But, actually, it didn't have anything in common with the moon phases.

But no, he wasn't afraid of him. His attitude was way more rational. He just knew, that if Greyback became hungry, he wouldn't hesitate too long to eat him and he just didn't like the idea, that was all. He just knew, that it was not clever to make friends with werewolves.

Especially with this one.

Greyback – lord, was he weird. Was he crazy! A real nut. Sometimes Scabior doubted about him still being human. But in some way he had to admire him – well, you would admire anyone who is able to say at least one sensible sentence if you were surrounded by such idiots.

Scabior joined the Snatchers, because he was clever (and he wouldn't be bashful to say that). The majority of his fellows joined the Snatchers, because they were idiots who were for no good for any other job.

Greyback didn't speak a lot (he preferred growling) but his silence was much cleverer than speaking of the others. He was quite a good leader, too. A real freak, yeah, but he was very good at finding jobs which combined a possibility to earn some money for the guys and to drink some fine warm innocent blood for him.

Well, sometimes he became too wild. He just – couldn't stop himself from having fun, right? First Scabior didn't care about it, but later he realized, that if their leader wouldn't just – try hard to control his passions, it might noticeably suppress their earnings and that was something he couldn't allow. So, he, shyly and protecting his head with anything he could reach at the moment, tried to decently notify Greyback that if he kills even _this _mudblood, they probably won't get their Galleons.

To his surprise, Greyback not only didn't throw him to the continental Europe, but he even considered Scabior's advice and then – obeyed it. Well, not that he would just obey it as it was, he probably only woke up from his affect and started to think rationally again.

And Scabior was satisfied, because he got his money.

Okay, he was afraid of him. In fact, he was terrified, but just got used to it, kind of, what he couldn't get used to was Greyback's way of unconditional violence, the way he committed it, the way he enjoyed it, the way it looked – well, let's stop for now.

What was important - he didn't want to let him know about his leg, he has heard too much about the predators choosing the weak ones. Yet it was quite difficult, because he couldn't help hobbling terribly. It hurt. Jeez, it hurt like hell. He tried hard to step as carefully as possible but it didn't help very much. Greyback was still silent. Scabior was slow as a tortoise on holiday. Well, maybe he hadn't noticed? Maybe Frank Sinatra was a Quidditch player?

From his anxious thoughts something even more unpleasant interrupted him.

Some days, or months, or even years ago, an absolutely and inexcusably irresponsible person, whose job was to take care about the school's surroundings, didn't even bother to do something with this little, but not clearly visible, and therefore very tricky hollow in the way, not caring about poor injured criminals, who could possibly intend to leave the castle unseen one day. One of such a kind appeared here accidentally and accidentally didn't see the hollow and accidentally his leg twisted and the pain went all through his body, as he was falling down like a demolished building (a good day for falling, really).

"Fuck..."

Well, this was funny.

Scabior was lying on the ground for a moment, with his fingers sinking into the pulpy soil around the lake, thinking what on earth has he done to whom and then realizing that this would take quite a few time to enumerate.

_Hey, you've got into some crazy shit this time, mate. Literally._

He stopped trying hard to give a name to his situation, because none of those which came up to his mind were nice. The nameless situation was still here to be solved, though. He hasn't suffered any injury worth mentioning for the last seven years (oh, apart from that New Year's Eve two years ago, he would laugh, but then he remembered that he's fucked), so he almost couldn't remember what it is like. What pain is like and what incapability of anything is like and what having a maniac behind his back being so vulnerable – oh, wait, he never experienced the last one before.

He though that maybe he could act like nothing happened, stand up and go on walking, yes, that's it, he would be dignified and elegant, like a Slytherin, like a sir. That would be it if he was capable of standing up.

He couldn't hear anything apart from some absent-minded humming of the wind, Greyback probably hasn't decided to leave yet.

Scabior coughed and proclaimed loudly: "I am fine! Everything's all right, I... did that on purpose!" not expecting any reaction apart from some grimace which he fortunately wouldn't be able to see.

One more try. He tensed all his muscle and lifted himself on his arms a little, then some bastard stabbed his hip joint trough with basilisk's tooth, then he realized there was no tooth in his leg, nor any bastard behind him (apart from a certain werewolf) and that it still was just his favourite injury. Then he heard something between a gasp and a whine, sounding almost like a quiet cry of an angry (and generally probably pretty spoiled) child and then he surprisedly realized that it was him, who breathed out this rather desperate sound.

He whispered something impolite and tried hard to pull his left hand out of the mud a little, since it sank so deep already that he could tickle Australian Governor-General on his foot. By way of contrast, the one which appeared right in front of him at the very moment, shod in a tattered and stinky old boot, didn't awaken any desire of such a kind in him.

He found himself being enclosed by Greyback's shadow, unclear in the evening gloom, clear enough to make him feel uneasy. He hypnotized the mud and the mud didn't react at all.

"You seem to be in some trouble, aren't I mistaken?"

Oh, fuck that jerk!

"You havin fun?"

He looked up at him and now as he was lying on the ground, Greyback looked even taller, so to say larger, so to say, monstrous.

The giant grinned and then, surprisingly, he sighed.

"We should leave."

"Yes, thank you Mr. Obvious, but – we?"

A sudden flash of green light ran from one of the castle's towers all over their faces, all over their surroundings, it briefly visited their eyes and then left them, resulting just in a little spark of fear. Then their eyes met, with kind of a funny resemblance of uneasiness, adapted to the expressions their criminal faces have frozen in many years ago, each in their own way.

Then Greyback smirked again.

"Come one, Scabior. Gimme your hand and let's go."

What?

_Scabior? _

He really said this. No he didn't. Now, that'd be crazy. Wouldn't it?

_Scabior, the hell are you thinkin about?_

That was a bad argument, for at the moment he definitely wasn't thinking at all.

_ If you do this, I will never talk to you again. Scabior, I mean it, I won't be able to! Scabior..?_

"Scabior?"

Red light. Some explosion. Some shrieks. Violet light. Some pain. Some fear. No idea.

He helped him to stand up and they set out.

...

It would sound funny, if they said it aloud, even though they didn't speak at all anyway, however, they really were heading from the castle together.

Greyback supported Scabior from the left and the Snatcher, now using his common sense a little again, was trying hard to think up some way he could survive in case Greyback would get hungry. That freaking leg, he probably won't be able to walk properly for some more time, some of his muscle seemed to be slightly torn and the hip joint also wasn't all right. And he was bleeding on a lot of places, but, as he noticed, Greyback was, too.

"Well, uhm... I suppose it will take some time till I am able to walk properly, but... I'll try at least somehow to walk myself, right? So, uhm... I mean, it's not necessary that you carry me the whole way..."

Greyback didn't answer and went on walking.

'_Okay_...' Scabior thought and sighed.

"Where are we going, actually?"

"To the Forbidden Forest."

"Why?"

"They won't look for us there."

"Right."

They were moving slowly but in a few minutes they reached the edge of the woods. The trees were watching them suspiciously and grumpily, yes they were.

"Not a friendly place, huh?"

"Good place to hide."

"Yeah, sure. I've been there once. It's a weird place. But that is a match for you."

Greyback growled quietly.

"I'm silent. Let's go."

The noise of the battle reached them just in echoes. Then they entered the woods.

Scabior was sitting at the bottom of an old maple tree, watching the flames he created about half an hour ago. It was strange – he knew the forest at night being just dark and cold, which concerned even the colours, all the time just green and blue and grey and one just looked around and felt cold immediately.

The fire coloured the surroundings in warm golden-orange – it coloured even Greyback's wolfish face. Even the face of...

_The hell are you doin here?!_

_If I were you, I'd be happy I still possess myself._

_Okay, look who was right in the end?_

_If you want to keep me, I'd recommend you to say this guy good bye as soon as possible._

_Well, I know but... he still didn't kill me, right?_

_Meat is better fresh._

_Very fuckin funny._

_It's not a joke, Scabior. I'm worried bout myself._

_Your problem._

_My problem? I'm your life, Christ._

_..._

_Hey, Scabior, what's that long face._

_Nothin._

_You look pretty melodramatic now._

_Fuck you._

"Hey. Hey, Scabior."

"Uhm... what?"

"You looked as if you were high or something."

"That's what I look like very often. You know me, don't you?"

Greyback gave him a doubtful look, or Scabior presumed it was meant to be doubtful, since after the years of balancing between human and animal, Fenrir's face was more predatory than anything, regardless of the situation.

"You're weird," he remarked finally.

"You too."

"Your smell is weird."

Scabior swallowed loudly.

"...what?"

He hoped that 'weird' doesn't mean 'tasty'.

There was silence for a moment, mainly because Greyback tried hard to get something from his teeth with a knife. Then he stood up and moved off.

"Hey, where are you goin?"

"I can smell some doe in that direction," he smirked showing his teeth in the unpleasant smile, "I became quite hungry..."

"You know, Greyback, sometimes I wonder, whether you're still human, or you turned into an animal completely."

Greyback, whose face was hidden from Scabior's sight again, stopped, the Snatcher couldn't say, but he might have heard a smirk.

"Look at your hairy back and then tell me some difference," the werewolf said finally.

Scabior wanted to say that he can't take a look at his back, but he didn't manage to, also, he couldn't avoid a strange feeling that Greyback's words were more than a stupid joke (like Greyback talking about someone being hairy...).

Later that evening (Scabior wasn't able to fall asleep without knowing what Greyback was doing) he returned with a dead doe, its throat looked... well, not very healthy.

Scabior was starving. He resisted for long but in the end he took one piece. But, unlike his companion, he didn't eat the meat raw.


	2. Day 2

**Hello!**

**I think no one of the few dearest readers of this story believed that I would eventually do so (I didn't), but now I really am publishing the second chapter! yup!**

**So if nothing unexpected happens it might appear here... like some technical problems, since I've never ever ever added a chapter to a story here. heh.**

**I'd also like to thank TaylorToucan for review, because I was terribly unsure about the story and this was really a proper motivation! :-)**

**Actually, when I am thanking, i should also thank a certain kitteneater, who was kind of a beta reader (or beta audience) for the whole time I was writing...**

**And I would also thank mom and dad and the academy, oh, wait?**

**Okay.. there is not much happening in this chapter. The next one should be much more about some action, but this is just a little talkative stuff and it's really bad, but you know how things are, er... sorry.**

**J.K. Rowling is awesome and these characters and places and lots of mentioned stuff are only hers. **

**Yeah. So. Let's do that. It's getting dark outside and even if it is after the 12th August, there might be some falling stars visible! And that's awesome, too.**

* * *

His dreams were strange. He met some of his imaginary friends, who hadn't hesitated to visit him during the fall of the previous day, then he saw Greyback, who was eating, more like feeding on the young mudblood who they met some time ago travelling with that Potter boy and whose face was getting kind of overused - if one was passing by any wall of any street in the wizarding world, big eyes of this young lady or/and her fellows were following him on every single step, he couldn't avoid them, something like a teenage celebrity, whom you can't stand after some time of constant media attack, with that one little difference that if you met such a star, you'd be expected to take an autograph, if you met some of those, you'd be expected to take their head.

Yet he would rather have this poster watching him at the toilette than himself watching its template gradually being halfway decapitated – there was a memory, rather mild uncertain idea of something in the past, in connection with a ghost somehow? - pushed away by an urgent disgust, sickness and unclear, but rather strong horror, no worries for her or even himself, just for the very possibility of such a thing, just for the hell of it.

Fortunately Grey's activity wasn't followed to the very end, the tiniest bit of good sense Scabior's subconscious had. The rest of the night was spent in rather chaotic mixture of pictures, sounds and ideas, Dark Lord asking about the way to Birmingham, that Lestrange bitch stepping on a glass ball and falling down, looking even more maniacal than usually (that was enough to make him giggle quietly many times during the whole following day), Potter himself eating a turkey with cranberry sauce (why the hell not, right? Dreams don't have to explain shit.), not to mention an old guy telling him that this time, he really, but really really fucked things up – and Scabior couldn't make him say, what the hell did he mean.

It was still dark, when he woke up from those anxious dreams, his sleep was broken softly and quietly, as a bursting soap bubble, he almost didn't open his eyelids, satisfied with just a narrow view of the outer world (not to mention a blurry one, since his eyes were kind of running late as for getting up), but it was enough just to check things, just to check that that stuff really was just a dream and he's allowed to make a quiet "pfew..." and go on sleeping, just to check what Greyback is doing, just to notice that he's awake, wait, what? Just to check that Scabior's being watched.

Fenrir was sitting right opposite him across the fading flames and his eyes were looking in Scabior's direction, although it wasn't clear, whether he's even aware of it.

Yet Scabior didn't like it. Yet he felt uneasy. Explored. Measured. That's how predators look, attentively and ready-like, any time, breakfast, dinner, before, after, summer, Christmas – look, as if they knew everything about you, as if you couldn't make any move they wouldn't expect you to make, as if you were so _adorably vulnerable_. And you just know you are.

Then all of sudden the predator lay down. And the prey – the prey fell asleep again, for it understood it's safe for now. Yet falling asleep aware of the fact that its survival wasn't based on its abilities or chances, but on the predator's arbitrariness.

When he woke up (for the second time that day), he was surprised of the volume of light, which the late dawn was bringing towards his tired eyes through the branches – how different was this from his idea of the Forbidden Forest, the dark and gloomy one, the one so matching into a fairy tale, the one he imagined when he himself was going to Hoghwarts, a castle nearby, you might've passed by it.

The second thing he noticed (after that awesome, glorifiable and generally fascinating morning glare finally cleared out from his fuckin eyes) was that Greyback was missing. On a hunt, Scabior thought and smirked, to his own surprise, for he didn't consider it a single bit nice, the less funny.

He tried to stand up - it was better than yesterday but still pretty painful. He made a few hesitant steps, revising all the rude words he knew, and when he bitterly congratulated himself after having reached the next tree, he noticed that despite the werewolf's absence he's not alone.

_You – are – fucked._

_Oh no, not you again. _

_You – are – fucked._

_You – are – boring._

_Better than being fucked._

_Why the hell should I be fucked this time? That doggie was right, they won't look for us here. Actually, I would be surprised if they looked for us at all._

_You are with a werewolf, remember?_

_Like I said, he still didn't kill me. And the joke about freshness is pretty dumb._

_I have another one, where is he now?_

_What?_

_What if he changed his mind? You are alone in the Forbidden Forest and aren't able to walk, the least to run, right?_

_Also not very funny. _

_Why? I'm having a lot of fun._

Well, that was something he really didn't think about. He was too busy wondering how he would get rid off Greyback as soon as possible that he didn't consider the possibility of being gotten rid off himself.

What if he really was alone? What if Greyback just didn't want to waste time on helping him anymore, what if he left him here with all that weird creatures, what if – no, he wouldn't do that, that bastard, he saved his life, Christ, Greyback must have some kind of honour and...

I – am – fucked.

No! Don't listen to her. Don't. Just don't...

"Greyback?" he whispered shyly. "Greyback? Where are you?"

A brief blow of a cold wind was the only answer. The branches swayed and made the shadows dance in the morning light. How come that the fuckin forest looks terrifyingly even in the most schmaltzy sunrise he has ever seen?

"Greyback!" He tried really hard but still wasn't able to avoid a nuance of panic in his voice. "Greyback... you bastard, you couldn't have... Greyback?"

"What's up?"

Scabior turned sharply – and his leg let him know again, so that he didn't forget about it accidentally, he hissed and, not to lose his image, let this painful hiss end up articulated to a silent "To hell with that..."

He looked up at Greyback – the werewolf gave him a questioning look, holding a dead hare on his shoulder – and cleaning his bloody-red teeth with his tongue. Scabior felt pain, horror and an uncontrollable urge to vomit at the same time – calm down, mate, calm down, look at the beautiful day, look at the beautiful sunrise, which you can't see properly, since you are surrounded by trees, since you are in the Forbidden Forest with a bloodthirsty werewolf. Calm down.

"Hey, Scabior. What's wrong?"

"I... uhm... nothing, I just..."

"So you called me just for fun?"

"No, no... I... I thought that you..."

He realized what he was about to say. No, he wasn't ready for that. He definitely wasn't ready to admit such a weakness to someone like Fenrir, the less to admit it to himself, so he just stooped his shoulders, bowed his head and said:

"...yeah, just for fun."

A pause.

"Are you fuckin kiddin me?"

"No, I... it's just me, makin jokes all around and such..." he tried to laugh but it sounded more like he was trying to imitate a seal cub.

"Scabior, you are an idiot."

"I can get along with that."

Greyback sighed and sat down, which was quite surprising.

"Will you stand there all day long? I brought some food."

"F-food?"

"Yeah, that thing one puts into his mouth so that he doesn't die."

It was quite funny to be prevented from death by someone, whom he presumed to be killed by just a moment ago.

"So?"

"So?"

"I suppose, you're going to need some fire, miss Scabior."

"What?" This sort of made him wake up, drew his attention from the previous (understandable) fear.

"I said..."

"I heard you, what do you mean by that... miss?"

"Oh, just nothin important."

He turned his eyes towards their probable breakfast and understood.

"Is that because I don't eat the meat raw?"

Greyback smirked and took a bite of the hare's back. Haha, very funny, monkey.

"Call me a big girl's blouse, Greyback, but you know what I will call you in few years? A stinky corpse. Haven't you heard of all that shit you avoid by the thermal treatment?"

"I haven't eaten any 'thermally treated' meat for about fifteen years."

"Well, maybe that's why you look like..."

"Like what?" Greyback narrowed his eyes.

"Uhm... well... I didn't mean... I mean - you look very... er... healthy and... such. Like... uhm... really, you do."

"What about sitting down and shutting up?"

"Sounds like a good idea," Scabior said quickly and with a little trouble placed himself opposite of Greyback, who returned to his previous activity – tearing apart the poor being, which became his breakfast unwillingly, with his own teeth.

"Will you take a piece, too, or are you on hunger strike?"

"I'll just have my stomach return to the right position."

The werewolf shook his head.

"You are weird."

Scabior thought something like that he wasn't the weird one here but didn't say a word. The forest was calm and silent and the only thing which could be heard was Greyback enjoying his meal, quite loudly.

Scabior swallowed slowly. Come on, you can do this, man.

"All right, Fenrir. Would you pass me that... that leg, please?"

The two of them went on walking through the woods – they agreed on crossing it all over and leaving at the opposite edge. Well, Fenrir agreed. Scabior _had to_ agree.

They went without breaks. Fenrir didn't show any signs of tiredness, Scabior felt like he would collapse the very moment the werewolf would release his grip. He was starving, too. Is there something in the raw meat which makes you resistant to hunger? Because Greyback just walked and sniffed and made lots of other weird sounds and was sweating and smelled and...

After a few hours Scabior somehow resigned. He had to admit, he kind of got used to all that and also... also he didn't want to be called "miss" again.

He decided to let Greyback do what he wanted to and ignore everything from the surroundings to his companion himself. He just has to find something to occupy his mind with... like... the results of the Quidditch league? That was quite problematic, since most of the best Quidditch teams had to stall their activities, having half of their line-ups arrested for not pure or at least not provable origin.

There also wasn't a lot of time to care about the latest results during the last months. On the few occasions he got to the Ministry in person, he bought (or borrowed, so to say) Daily Prophet sometimes, but, no matter whether he liked the new ideology or not, its content was getting a little monotonous and its pages were so filled up with photos of the ones he was supposed to look for (you generally don't like it, when even newspapers you read in your free time remind you of work you still haven't done) and passionate descriptions of the atrocities reportedly committed by the mudbloods (he could recognize something similar to Greyback's work in some of them) that for poor little formerly so popular Quidditch players wasn't more than a page left, when they were lucky.

They discussed Quidditch with the Snatchers just once or twice. Alan, that guy from West Sussex, who spoke of his wife all day long and Scabior could name at least seven health problems she suffered during the last two years, as well as what she was wearing on their wedding and which cakes she bakes the best (it was quite sweet, such a tender devotion, especially from someone, whom Scabior has witnessed to torture girls in their teens), so this totally married guy claimed that he used to be a Seeker in the Slytherin house team and since he was between ten to thirty years older than the rest of the guys (maybe with the exception of Greyback, whose age was undefinable, but who wasn't joining any studies in his life, nor this "pointless" discussions, anyway), no one could actually doubt it, maybe just for the shape of his body, which none of them could imagine to be carried by any available broom. Alan, however, didn't doubt the importance of the Seeker's constitution himself – he proclaimed that out of all guys present, the one with the best chances to become a good Seeker was Jerry –

Oh, yes, Jerry, that lad, whose wand was now in Scabior's pocket.

Lord, he ate all the cookies just in five minutes. And then another idea to be thought through appeared in Scabior's mind, that was – did he actually know anything else about the boy? And he couldn't answer anything else than – not a lot.

Jerry had some serious problem with acne, really. And he was a completely teenage teenager (probably in his late teens, actually) in many other ways. Scabior remembered Jerry's eyes - any time when there was a female person among the mudbloods they caught, they looked like they wanted to jump out of his face. Well, if it was their wish, they managed that in the end.

A sudden flash of pain disturbed his thoughts and he, despite any efforts, whined quietly.

"What?"

"Nothin... nothin."

Even though he was supported by Greyback, his leg was about to hand in its notice. No wonder, he's been using it the whole day with almost no relief... quiet, Scabior, just occupy your mind with...

Jerry. Jerry with all that shit all over his face. Jerry who ate all the cookies within five minutes. Jerry with his terrible urge to get laid – or lay someone, actually. What else? Just try hard, you have to remember something – you've spent several months with that lad, something must've stayed in your memory...

Jerry... Jerry once said something like he had a sister or so... or Scabior thought so at least. No, no, a brother – no, it was a female person for sure... a cousin? A niece? Well, that would indicate some siblings though...

Jerry who had pimples and ate cookies and had some relatives probably, cause he didn't just fall down the sky, well, in the end he fell down that bridge and it looked relatively the same, with one exception – the fall wasn't the beginning but just a miserable end of his life.

Jerry who had legs where his shoulders were supposed to be.

"Fuck..."

"What's that this time?"

"I don't know anything bout Jerry."

"What?"

"He had pimples and ate cookies and was horny as hell. That's all I know bout him for sure."

"And..?"

"I don't know, it's just... he's dead, isn't he?"

"I've never seen anyone alive looking like that."

"It's terrifying."

"What?"

"That I didn't know... I have his wand now, don't I?"

"You do. Is that so important?"

Scabior didn't seem to hear him.

"He didn't speak a lot, did he?"

"You could follow his example."

"Who was he, actually? Just a guy with pimples, or something more?"

"Scabior?"

"Yeah?"

"That was a polite way to tell you to shut up."

"Since when do you intend to be polite?"

"More like since when do I drag overtalkative cripples through woods?"

That did make Scabior quiet. He cast his eyes down to the ground, not in a gesture of submission, but in realisation that he talked too much. With the monster. When you don't mind it touching you, at least do not talk to it. A simple emergency rule. Last rule left before the monster eats you or before you get saved by a prince. Scabior was pretty sure that no prince would desire him very much, which made just the first possibility prospective for him, which didn't make him any calmer. For a split second he remembered about Jerry again and for a split second he felt envious about him having all this shit over. Nothin over his head anymore, apart from his legs. No, Scabior, stop that, stop that stupid jokes about Jerry's corpse.

Oh, god, someone save him!

It's funny that you can undergo an incredibly long journey and then just one little wrong step and...

Also it is funny how we tend to include some philosophic stuff in everything, so that we looked as the masters of the situation, even when we are totally doomed, even when we stumbled on bumpy ground of woods and it literally tore our leg apart so much that we felt even dizzy and sick and that we would fall down if we didn't have any support.

„F...Fenrir..."

No answer, not to mention no sign of noticing.

„Fenrir."

„What this time?"

„Shouldn't we... it's getting dark... shouldn't we..."

„No way."

„But..."

Every step is hell.

„It's not dark yet. Shut up and move your ass."

„But, Fenrir, we've been walkin for the whole day and..."

Queasiness.

„...and I think that –"

„I said no. I am not the one who can't survive without the other."

„For now."

„What did you say?"

„I said for now. Now you are the stronger one."

The gaze on Greyback's face didn't look very promisingly, but they stopped at least. Maybe this partial success gave him strength. Strength to kill himself.

He bent his head.

„Fenrir, I... I can't walk anymore. I am just not goin. It's that simple. You can go. I don't care."

When he looked up, the mentioned glare was turned into disbelief. Then, as if there was something funny about what happened, Fenrir's grimace softened a tiny little bit, even if by something mocking.

"You are opposing," he said slowly and for some reason kind of meaningfully. What the hell was funny here? What the hell was funny?

"Yes I am! Yes I am, I am a fuckin cripple, then let me kick the bucket here and go fuck yourself!"

To Scabior's shock Greyback started to laugh.

„What."

„Nothin," he answered and looked around. „Let's go there. There might be a lee."

Scabior was stunned.

„A lee?"

„That place without wind."

„Just like that?"

„Just like that without wind."

„I mean –"

„Weren't you dead tired?"

„Kind of, sure, yeah, I..."

„Then let's go."

"Incendio," Scabior whispered and a little pile of sticks, he had collected from his surroundings of a radius about the length of his arm, caught fire, and never felt this spell so nice, never felt sitting in a heap of needles so comfortwble. He was glad (and a little bit surprised, too) that Greyback didn't react even by the grimace of his face – he actually seemed to be asleep, just five minutes after they had stopped. Incredible.

It was incredible, too, that he's never seen Fenrir asleep before – like apart from yesterday. During their travelling with the snatchers Greyback usually disappeared for the night – mainly to get some food, of course, but he never reappeared before the dawn. He probably just didn't bother returning and after the hunt and the following dinner he just fell asleep at the place he was at at the moment. Or was it because he didn't trust the guys?

Scabior could see nothing of his former boss but a dark silhouette, since the flames were between the two of them. But he could hear him – somehow he expected Fenrir to snore – like to snore really hard. But even this sound was in Greyback's way wolfish – incredibly deep, dark, reminding of growling more than anything else – and also surprisingly quiet and calm.

Scabior couldn't help being a little envious, for he hasn't slept like this, means like a big, hairy and horrifying baby, for too many years. He slept, yeah, but with that... dreams and... every time just halfway to the real sleep, the real one which brings you rest – rest was something he was lacking in general, actually.

He sighed, straightened his back carefully and looked around, when something unexpected caught his sight.

Blueberries! For all the gold at Gringotts, blueberries!

He felt like eating three elephants, but since he was pretty sure there were none in the woods (as well as no other nourishment he could reach at the moment), to his mind he was watching little blue miracles.

He stretched his arm to the bush, trying hard to keep the balance and ignore his leg's protests, but his dinner was too distant. Scabior howled quietly and with an expression of defeat started to shift towards the desired meal slowly and bitterly losing his dignity. He didn't sleep like a baby, at least he crawled like one.

"Christ, Scabior," Grayback mumbled suddenly and the addressed one would jump up, if he could. "The hell are you doin, you're a fuckin wizard..."

"Oh... yeah, you're right."

Scabior felt like an idiot, yet his face was a picture of happiness and satisfaction, since he was enjoying the first food after an infinite amount of hours, no matter how little it was.

"Scabior?" Greyback said after a while.

"What?" Scabior responded, secretly hoping that the news will be about some more voluminous dinner, the blueberries, no matter how sweet they were, couldn't even save him from hypoglycaemia.

"Are you afraid of me?"

Scabior swallowed the halfway chewed berries and watched Greyback as if he was a boiling cauldron about to explode.

"S-sorry?"

He couldn't see his face very well in the gloom.

"Forget that," Fenrir sat up and gave one long look in the flames, that kind we usually give when our minds are so heavy with thoughts that we don't care about burnt retinas. "Fuck cooking. Fire is freakin awesome to look at," he said suddenly, laughed a little and Scabior smiled nervously. He's never seen his boss in this kind of mood and wasn't sure what it could bring.

"You know what?"

"Uhm... what?"

"I remembered bout Jerry."

"Did you?" Scabior looked up surprisedly, but with a noticeable interest both in his voice and eyes. Greyback lied again.

"He joined us about a month before you. He lived nearby Manchester. And he was goin to Hufflepuff. The guys were once... laughin at him cause otherwise they were from Slytherin, all of them."

"I don't remember that."

"I think it was before you came. Or maybe you had one of your drinkin evenings..."

"Oh..."

There was silence for a moment.

"So that was Jerry."

Greyback answered by another deep silent snore and Scabior couldn't resist a little indulgent smile for some reason.

"Thank you, doggie."

The sleeping one growled quietly, for a moment Scabior thought that he was awake and heard him. But no angry reaction followed and so he presumed that Fenrir just had one of his hunting dreams – cause what else could he dream about?


	3. Day 3

**The third chapter, a little bit more action I hope :-D also some blah blah parts, however... i didn't rewrite it that terrible much i did with the previous one, don't know whether it's good or bad :-D**

**Well, then... we are in the third day of the survivors' journey.. :-)**

* * *

The comfortable darkness of his sleep was broken by unclear rays of a kick. A kick?

Not that Fenrir would be any gentle when waking someone up, but he never used his foot – if this even was a foot, it was more like some stone or a stick or what the hell...

The voice which spoke then also wasn't really Fenrir-like.

"Hey. Wake up, human."

Fuck!

He opened his eyes rapidly and in comparison to the explosion of photons, which completely burned down his corneas, was the previous impolite kick like a stroke in the hair – yes, it probably was a kick, just performed with a hoof.

He was surrounded by shadowy silhouettes, he wasn't really able to focus on, as trying to force his brain to work but that bloody jelly of water, fat and totally idiotic ideas was resisting too hard. He noticed some arrows pointing at him but he could only imagine them piercing his head through and through and then he was thinking about how funny it would be to ride one of the centaurs and then he realized, fuck, these really are centaurs, they are probably going to kill him.

"Who are you?"

"What..?"

"_Who_ are you?"

He touched his pocket, it was empty, then he realized that Jerry's wand is possessed by the centaur next to the one who was questioning him.

"A poor one... really a poor one..."

Where the hell was Greyback?

"Poor one?"

"A victim... a victim of a terrible headache to say the least."

"Pay attention to what you're saying, human."

"Calm down, horsie... Ewww..."

This one was hard... this one was... almost like by a horse - he would giggle at that stupid joke, if that bastard hasn't kicked him in his stomach.

"Name."

Name, name, name, think up anything, go, go...

"Vernon... Vernon Dudley..."

Where the hell did he come to that?

"Who are you, Vernon, and what are you doing here?"

"I..."

THINK.

"Yes?"

"I am a merchant with... with cauldrons... I..."

What the hell is a merchant with cauldrons doing here?

"You probably came from Hoghwarts, haven't you?" another centaur said, the first one silenced him with a sharp hiss.

"Yeah! Yeah... I... I joined the battle, for... I've been to Hogsmeade and I… came to help but…"

The centaur laughed.

"Help! So you've come to defeat the Dark lord, haven't you?"

"Exactly… well, not exactly, I got there like really accidentally, it's quite a… funny story, you know? I'll tell you…"

"Spare your breath. So, now you are celebrating your victory here in the forest?"

"No," Scabior answered hurriedly. He started to feel quite nervous, Fenrir, that bastard, probably left him here to his fate, which didn't look very pleasant itself, and he, usually so quick-minded (and charming and fabulous… Christ Scabior, you aren't on a date) now wasn't able to think up any simple story which wouldn't sound like a sci-fi even to Scabior himself.

"I…"

"Yes?"

"There were some… Death Eaters… that… that fat one! And some others and… they tried to catch me and I ran here and… here I am."

"Oh, of course. But, you know..." the centaur bent down to him a little and his pathetic long blonde hair slipped down his shoulders, decorated with not a single bit less majestic bow and quiver, "We've already met a few like you."

"Like me?"

"Those rogues, who supported the Dark wizard, who helped him with his plans to get rid of all centaurs, who, in unison with him, claimed that we, the proud people of centaurs, are inferior. We found them, with blood on their hands and their wands full of dark and evil magic, responsible for the most disgusting spells, hiding in the woods like rats from the daylight... and you know what they claimed?"

Scabior licked his lips. This was bad. This was way, way bad. (Was he preparing that dramatic speech for long?)

"I... I swear I'm not like them. I'm not, I..."

"Enough. Show your forearm."

Some luck finally!

He forced himself to look confused, even though the corners of his mouth felt like climbing up to his forehead at least. For the first time he was happy that the Dark lord didn't consider him being worthy to get the chic tattoo.

"What... why..."

"Do it. Now."

Scabior shrugged his shoulders, rolled up his sleeves and if he wasn't so frightened, he would be quite amused with the disappointed grimaces, which appeared on the centaurs' faces.

"Hmm..." the leader mumbled, "Right. You're not an official Death Eater. But that doesn't mean that you are innocent. You'll come with us and we will take you to the wizards. You don't have to be afraid of Azkaban. If they recognize you, we'll take care of you ourselves."

He couldn't decide, which variant was worse.

"Sir... I... I thank you for keeping the presumption of innocence, really..."

"Be quiet and stand up."

"But... but, sir, I... during the escape I... hurt my leg and I'm not able to walk properly."

"Hmmm..."

One more hmm with this terribly thoughtful look and he will burst out laughing.

"Bered, Siran, take him each from one side. Try hard not to tear him apart. If not necessary."

The two semi-horses obeyed their leader's command with scornful faces and Scabior thought something like that they don't have to be so sincere and that he also isn't very excited about their presence, but again he didn't say a word. Through the years he learned, that the core of diplomacy doesn't lie in words but in a well-timed silence.

He looked around himself. Apart from the boss and the two guys who carried him, there were three other centaurs, all of them had bows and arrows and such and looked majestic as hell.

Just hypothetically, if he was able to run, which he might be able to force himself if he was directly endangered by death – which he probably was - , well, then he could kick the first one, then the second one... well, okay. Or – he could claim he has to pee. Well, they won't be that stupid. Or – he could pretend that he fainted and then jump up like a drugged squirrel and run away and it would take him just few, really a few seconds till he would be – shot down.

He sighed.

_Still nothing?_

His imaginary friends – or more like his imaginary enemies - were kind of out of form.

So he would say it himself:

"I-am-fucked," he whispered.

Not even the fuckin beast, that hairy, or more like fury nut-head, gives a shit about him, well, he probably never did, he never gave a shit about anyone, actually, he gives a shit mainly about food, as far as Scabior knew, or as far as he supposed, right, well, then, why did he help him before?

One of the centaurs stopped suddenly.

"Sir?"

"Yes?"

"I was just wondering... how did he get so far, when he can't even walk?"

And then he saw the shade.

It was a quick movement, so fast that it could be scarcely noticed, just a tremor in the air, a tiny gap in the rays of sunlight.

What a timing.

"Hey, who..."

"Sectumsempra!"

The leading centaur shrieked in pain, as his chest tore as a sheet of paper, and he collapsed down to the ground. The rest started to panic, Scabior was suddenly collapsing too, being dropped by the two movingly loyal centaurs, who screamed as if their own body has been torn apart - he would appreciate his newly acquired freedom, if he didn't find himself in a heavy rain of clumping hooves.

He heard whizzing of the arrows and then some screamed spells, it was a remarkable collection of dark magic, it was some angry person, probably, it was, jesus christ, it was Fenrir.

He always had a sense of dramatic arrivals.

On the other hand he was lacking something as for the instinct of self-preservation.

Attacking a group of six centaurs, armed with arrows, not to mention their terribly hard hooves…

One of them has just been used against the werewolf and it didn't look very pleasant. He howled and Scabior's eyes widened in horror – for a split second he wasn't sure why – then he remembered that there would be no one to save his ass if something happened to Greyback.

As for him, he didn't look like being really hurt or something, he was actually ripping the throat of one of the centaurs at the moment and… why, was that disgusting.

The leader was trying hard to stop his own bleeding and shoot at the same time, he wasn't likely to be very successful, it looked quite funny, actually.

Another one was already lying on the ground and he didn't move, but from his point Scabior couldn't see what was wrong with him.

There were three more left, pointing at Fenrir with their arrows, being confused obviously, and unsure about the probability of shooting their friend instead of the enemy – since the two of them were performing some kind of a terrible dance of blood-thirst and horror. Actually, Scabior'd say that they didn't need to be so hesitant, cause their friend didn't have any chance to survive already anyway, but…

What the hell are you thinking about, do something!

He stood up carefully and it went just with one light touch of pain, which was quite a success. What now?

He is not able to defend himself physically, he will definitely need his wand, the last time he saw it, it was held by... the dead one!

But it didn't seem to be very easy to get there through the whirl of fighting semi-animals.

In order to save at least something of his dignity, he called the movements, he was now performing with a funny nervous grimace and teeth clenched like his cousin Big Albie's fist, "slithering" for himself, because it was no shame to be Slytherin of course. He was one. He was a proud one, now crawling like a baby along those aawwww too fast hooves probably, hooves of bloody mutants, christ.

Fenrir has finished another one of that lot meanwhile, however, the leader, propelled by his rightful anger, somehow managed to stand up again and despite the loss of blood, which he must've suffered, started to shoot again.

Those crazy, proud bastards, aren't they fucking afraid of a werewolf?! Even though Greyback was in his human form at the moment, still he was pretty terrifying, for, actually, what "human form" meant to other werewolves, was something, Fenrir could only dream about, if he even bothered.

When Scabior reached the corpse of the dead one and found Jerry's wand again, for a moment he wasn't sure, which side was the lesser evil for him.

Then Fenrir shrieked, as one of the wild arrows stabbed his shoulder, and Scabior, without any rational decision, shouted:

"Stupefy!"

And the leader was suddenly made unconscious by Scabior, to the great surprise of the both of them.

For a brief moment there was silence. Then Fenrir pulled the arrow out of his body and attacked the ginger one, Scabior screamed some more spells, anything which came up to his mind, then attacked them just with reddish-golden flashes of fierce and anger, unconcrete, highly emotional and very strong way to attack somebody, and it just briefly occurred to his mind that Jerry's wand, the socially awkward youngster's wand, is unusually used to such a desperate type of magic.

Scabior was standing still, keeping his balance and watching Fenrir's back, the werewolf was kneeling at one of the centaurs' body and doing something, Scabior didn't want to know (and couldn't see from his point of view).

"Grey..?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

"That's okay."

Something clinked and Scabior ran his hand through his hair.

"We're even, right?"

Whatever he was doing, Greyback stopped that and turned to his companion for a brief lock of their eyes. Then, leaving not a split second more than just enough time for Scabior to even notice his look, he turned back to his previous activity.

Scabior didn't know what it was, the less what it was meant to be, yet it made his lips to part a little bit in mild confusion, he narrowed his eyes moderately, but unlike what his facial nerves were thinking, neither of these tiny movements helped him to understand what exactly was so disturbing about the split second of nonverbal communication.

He shook his head and sat down.

"We will have to leave the forest as soon as possible. There will be more of them," he said and looked around, it was sunny and warm and he realized that, despite any efforts, he doesn't stink any less than Fenrir.

"Yeah," the mentioned one answered tersely and Scabior sighed.

For a while he went on watching him and then he, collecting all his courage, said:

"Fenrir... Fenrir, please, tell me, you are not eating something, which could talk."

The werewolf was quiet for a while, then he smirked with a little nuance of the actual evil.

"I'm just looking for something useful in his luggage," he said then simply, as if he was giving information about the weather.

And Scab didn't ask anymore.

It was getting dark, when they reached the edge of the woods. Scabior kind of couldn't believe his eyes, for after the eternity of the horribly slow wandering through the legion of trees (although the pace was mainly his fault) he was convinced that there's no more world beyond the forest's borderline.

And not only he couldn't believe the open space, he also couldn't trust it.

"Look, Grey... The forest is large and widespread but... I think we still aren't far enough, are we? I think they will come and... what about waiting for the dawn, the early dawn, and staying just few steps from the edge, here, in the dark... hm? We wouldn't get very far, anyway."

"You wouldn't."

"Well... yes, I would almost forget. Then, would you, please, stay with me in the forest, for I would get caught and killed or arrested and rotten in Azkaban or fucked in any other unpleasant way otherwise?"

"Nice development."

"Sorry?"

"Yes."

Scabior looked at him and then smiled.

"Thank you, doggie."

And Greyback didn't react even with a growl at this undignified nickname. Maybe for the tone of Scabior's voice, which wasn't either amused or provocative this time, more than anything gratitude could be heard from behind those layers of deep-rooted irony and arrogance, as faked as goblin's promise.

"Grey?"

"Hm?"

"I thought..." Scabior smirked a little, "I thought you'd leave me there."

"Me too."

"Oh?"

Greyback didn't consider it necessary to answer.

"Then why did you come back?"

"Do you mind it?"

"No, of course not, just... askin."

The werewolf shrugged his shoulders.

"I just wanted to."

"You just wanted to?"

"Yeah."

"I don't believe you."

"Why..?" Greyback asked after taking a long, deep and tired breath, as if the answer couldn't be other than incredibly stupid.

"You just don't do things like that. You just don't help people, just for fun."

"I just do things, because I want to. That's the only rule. Being a werewolf has its advantages, you see."

"And that was also why you took me here in the forest with you."

"No."

"No?"

"No. If I left you there, they would have caught you. And you would've seen my direction and even if not, you know way too many places I usually use to hide."

"Sorry but despite your theory this also sounds like a reason for stealing me from that angry horsies. Aren't I right?"

Greyback smiled.

"Maybe..."

Scabior smirked.

"Still, Fenrir, I wouldn't say anything."

"That's moving, but I don't think so."

"And what could they do to me? They are too virtuous to use our methods and for what I've done, I'd still get to Azkaban, if nothing worse."

"For what you've done?" Fenrir laughed, "You're a priest in comparison to the other guys."

"This is not a fuckin competition, Grey. Anyways, you know nothing bout me."

"That's truth," Fenrir said. "But I'm pretty sure you would say anything which could save your ass."

Scabior smiled.

"Maybe..."

The night was quiet apart from several sounds common in the woods, howls, whistlings, growls, sounds natural and matching to Scabior's companion.

"What then?" he asked after a while.

"Then?"

"After we'll have left the forest."

"I dunno. We'll just go as far as possible and then... who knows. Maybe we'll get caught."

"Okay."

Scabior watched the flames and, even though he should be philosophizing about some life truths or some unsolved traumas of his childhood at such a pathetic opportunity, he didn't think about anything particular, apart from a brief deliberation of the weird way in which a bee he noticed flew.

"Scab?"

"Uhm, yeah?"

"Are you hungry?"

Scabior's eyes widened in surprise.

"Re-really? You are askin me?"

"No."

"No?"

"Yes, of course I am. You can tell from the intonation."

"Well, then... I'd eat even if Lestrange cooked."

And that was how Scabior ate his first squirrel.


End file.
